47.
“All the Western nobles.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Sebas Chen answered with a faint, weary tremor in his voice, visibly rattled by the sheer number of names.
The head maid, lingering nearby, bowed her head lower still, desperate to conceal her shock.
“You may leave.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Only when the heavy oak door clicked shut behind them did Marin finally release a jagged, stifled breath.
“Prepare to head out by noon tomorrow.”
“Going out?”
“If we are to avoid suspicion, external appearances are necessary.”
“Ah—a date?”
At the word ‘date,’ the Duke’s shoulders flinched, though Marin, lost in her own thoughts, failed to notice the reaction.
“Start with that boutique where you had your dress fitted.”
Marin pictured the dress shop—an explosion of ribbons, lace, and frills—alongside the imposing figure of the Duke. She stifled a laugh; the pairing was staggeringly absurd.
“Yes, Your Grace. But… there is a complication.”
The Duke gestured for her to continue.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, I cannot travel by carriage.”
If the Duke had truly investigated her history, he would know exactly why the thought of a carriage turned her blood to ice.
“…To what extent does it affect you?”
His voice lacked its usual sharp edge; he was hesitant, leaning slightly toward her as if measuring the weight of her trauma.
“When I am in a carriage—when it’s enclosed on all sides—I feel as if I’m being buried alive. The panic is… unbearable.”
Marin squeezed her eyes shut. The phantom sound of a horse’s desperate, dying cry echoed in her ears. Blood, hot and red, seemed to bloom behind her eyelids until she forced them open.
“I see.”
Eager to shed the suffocating memory, she rushed to offer an alternative.
“I could ride on horseback and meet you at Bloria Dress Shop. If I don’t travel in your company, no one will pay me any mind.”
“Do that.”
With his permission granted, Marin felt a rush of relief. She knew she couldn’t avoid carriages forever, but she would put it off until the very last possible moment.
The Duke reached into his desk drawer and slid a single sheet of paper toward her.
An engagement contract.
Marin scanned the dense, cluttered lines, her eyes locking onto the figure at the bottom.
*10 gold per day.*
Her pulse quickened. Plans began to swirl in her mind—limitless possibilities. She would save aggressively, buy a plot of land in a prime location, build a house, hire staff…
“Are you not going to sign?”
The Duke’s cool voice snapped her back to reality.
“Yes! I am, I am!”
Marin grabbed the quill and scrawled her name with fervor.
“I’ll do my best to be a perfect fiancée starting today!” She announced, clenching her hands with newfound vigor.
“An excellent attitude.”
“Then, I shall visit you when it is time for your rest. I’ll take my leave now.”
She bowed deeply and exited the office, her steps light and spirited.
* * *
Bloria Dress Shop’s glass window was usually a rotating gallery of the season’s finest.
However, the recent influx of orders from The Duke’s Estate had left the staff overwhelmed, and the displays remained stagnant. Unable to showcase last season’s wares, Idre had dressed the mannequins in the gowns intended for Marin.
Idre hummed a soft tune, adjusting the golden ruffles on a mannequin before turning away. Her assistant, Juri, watched her with wide, curious eyes.
“Designer, you’ve been in such high spirits lately.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? I have a client who trusts me implicitly, and the woman who wears my work is kindness personified.”
Idre’s voice brimmed with genuine warmth.
“Who on earth is she? Even I’ve been kept in the dark about her identity.”
Juri had been with the shop since its inception; she was more than an assistant—she was family.
“It’s a secret.”
Idre’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she retreated into the workshop.
“Oh, you really are something…”
*Cling.*
The bell above the door chimed, and Juri abandoned her grumbling to greet the guest.
“Welcome.”
A woman stepped inside, her appearance striking—neat platinum-blonde hair tied in an elegant updo, fresh lime-green eyes, and soft pink lips.
“Oh my! Lady Marin!”
Idre emerged from the workshop at the sound of the name, her face lighting up.
“Hello, Designer.”
“What brings you here? You didn’t need to trouble yourself with a visit.”
Idre fussed over her like a cherished patron, while Juri watched in silent awe. Her gaze landed on the white embroidery stitched into the guest’s shimmering blue dress. It was the same intricate work Juri had pulled an all-nighter to finish just days before.
Juri’s eyes widened as she finally connected the pieces.
“There is a dress I need to request, and it’s somewhat urgent.”
“I’m already working on several for you, Lady Marin—are there more?”
Idre’s delight was palpable.
“Yes. Please, I need you to prioritize this one above the rest.”
“Oh my! What kind of dress requires such haste?”
Marin flushed, a light tint of pink spreading across her cheeks. It was the first time she had broached the subject of an ‘engagement’ to anyone outside her family, and the word felt heavy, yet thrilling, on her tongue.
“That is….”
*Bang!*
Before she could finish, the shop door was kicked violently open.
Startled by the jarring noise, Marin’s shoulders hiked up in a flinch.
“Who is the designer in charge here?”
A corpulent, middle-aged noblewoman, her chestnut hair piled high like a three-tier cake, barged in, followed by a young woman with vivid orange-red hair and matching eyes.
“Lady Marin, just a moment.”
Idre excused herself with a tight, apologetic smile and stepped toward the intruders. Marin retreated, moving quietly into the shadows.
“Hello. I am Idre Smil. How may I assist you?”
The noblewoman hurled a pale pink dress onto the floor, her expression dripping with disdain.
“How do you manage to stay in business, selling garments made of such wretched, low-quality fabric?”
Idre calmly retrieved the dress from the floor. One look confirmed it: this was her design.
“I made this dress.”
“Hmph. I bought it here, so obviously it’s your work.”
“And what is the issue?”
“My daughter wore this to a tea party and was humiliated. Such abysmal craftsmanship! How do you intend to compensate us for this?”
Idre inspected the gown. The seam at the waist wasn’t frayed from wear—it had been shredded, clearly caught on something sharp. She gripped the fabric and turned her gaze to the daughter.
The young woman met her eyes with a defiant, provocative smirk.
“I don’t recall selling this dress to you.”
“This is exactly why one shouldn’t buy from such a disreputable shop. You just admitted you made it!” The mother snapped, her eyes narrowing into slits.
Idre ignored her, speaking directly to the daughter.
“I specifically told you that this gown was not for sale to you. It didn’t suit your frame. I remember clearly that this was purchased by your friend. Why are you wearing it?”
“This is utterly preposterous!” The mother shrieked. “What game are you playing?”
“I am simply stating that I did not sell this dress to your daughter.”
“I bought it from a friend,” the young woman interjected, her voice dripping with arrogance. “Therefore, it is mine. It’s of such poor quality that I find the entire experience beneath me.”
Mother and daughter sneered in perfect unison.
Idre bit her tongue to keep the curses at bay. These types of vultures appeared once or twice a year to ruin her peace.
And she had genuinely thought this year would pass without a hitch.